


Matthew 25:21

by sland3rs



Series: Up The Wolves [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Issues, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 11:02:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15906969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sland3rs/pseuds/sland3rs
Summary: Thomas Hawke goes to the Chantry and lights a few candles for his fallen family members. Sebastian is there to help.A look at Hawke's progression with magic and how the death of his family has affected him.Hinted at/Barely mentioned Handers, future Sebhawke.





	Matthew 25:21

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6R9WEyHVV6k) song.
> 
>  
> 
> _"His master replied, 'Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master's happiness!'_

When Hawke was fourteen, his father died. It was sudden, tragic, and the first time he had ever experienced such a loss. The twins were nine, old enough to understand Father wasn't coming back but not quite old enough to understand _why_. All they knew was Father had gone off on a trip — which was normal enough — and then come back hurt and bleeding. Without a healer in town and with Hawke unable to fix even a small wound — Bethany had not yet come into her magic — Father had died only a day later. No one knew exactly what had happened, because Malcolm was far too competent to be attacked by any animals and Lothering was too small to really be dangerous. If Leandra knew, she said nothing. 

Even Hawke didn't know — he wouldn't until he was seventeen and caring for Mother and she told him that Malcolm had gone to the Wilds and died in a freak attack by bandits. 

Still, Hawke would always remember the thin off-white sheet that lay over his father’s body as the flames grew around him, the eventual ashes blown away to mingle with the earth far, far away. The twins had held onto his hands during the ceremony, one on either side. Both of them had cried, because they were small and it was difficult to see someone you thought immortal no longer breathe or smile or laugh. But Hawke had not cried. He watched as Mother cried and Carver and Bethany cried and as many of their neighbors openly cried. But he didn't because he couldn't. 

_Take care of them. I love you,_ were Father’s last words. And by the Maker, Hawke would adhere to them if it killed him. 

Hawke was seventeen when Leandra said that Malcolm had gone to the Wilds and died in a freak attack by bandits but he was eighteen when Leandra confessed the full truth. Malcolm had gone into the Wilds in search of a mage who had more knowledge of the Fade and would not sell them out to the Templars. Someone, in short, who could have helped Hawke.

After that, Hawke didn't sleep well for a long, long time. 

#

The Chantry smelled, as it usually did, of a careful blend of herbs and the burning of candles. The faint lingering smoke made the main chamber a little hazy and slightly warmer than even the blistering heat outside. Thomas felt like he was melting a little in his armor, even if it was better ventilated than many robes he had worn over the years. There was something constricting and heavy about the Champion armor, something that meant he was never quite fluid in it. 

It also meant he was instantly recognizable, which usually Thomas detested, but he was supposed to meet with Meredith later and he knew he needed as much authority and false confidence as he could gather. She was not an easy woman to know, and she was certainly not his biggest fan as he was a decently powerful mage, but they both agreed that Kirkwall needed to be kept save from blood mages… no matter the cost. 

“My friend,” Sebastian called over as he descended the staircase. He was in his Chantry robes, hair slicked back, a soft smile on his face. Hawke swallowed and kicked at the floor, knocking a bit of lint to one side. “If you wait just a moment, I can be dressed and ready to join you.” 

Hawke shook his head. “Maybe later. I… wished to ask an unusual favor of you.” He fidgeted a little, not quite meeting Sebastian’s gaze. Even just standing in a Chantry felt like tempting fate, as if any moment someone or something would come out and demand that he turn himself into the Circle. It didn't help that he had used magic to kill the Arishok in a room of the most important people in Kirkwall. He didn't _have_ anonymity to hide behind, only the goodwill of the populace and a fair chunk of change. 

And Varric’s influence, Hawke assumed, considering Varric pulled so many strings in the city that Hawke was surprised he hadn't tripped over more of them. 

“Oh?” Sebastian seemed… intrigued. Which wasn't bad, but not great. 

“I… I was hoping I could, uh, get your help lighting some candles. For my — my family.” Hawke bit his lip, feeling more than a little foolish now that the words were out. He was a fully grown adult — fuck, he was twenty eight years old. He should be able to do this without help. “My apologies it was — it was a stupid request. You have much better things to do with your time. I will leave you—”

“No, I would be glad to help,” Sebastian interrupted. “I was just surprised. You’ve never lit candles for them before, have you?” 

Hawke shook his head. Sebastian’s smile didn’t waver. He motioned for Hawke to join him and the two walked up the stairs to the second floor of the Chantry. Hawke had to take the steps quickly in order to keep up with Sebastian’s long strides and he winced every time his staff hit the back of his armor and rang out in the otherwise quiet room. He didn’t quite have the courage to glance about, but he was certain everyone was looking at him. 

That was why he was relieved when Sebastian, rather than bring them to the main statue of Andraste, took Thomas into a side chapel. There was a smaller figure of Andraste, this one made of wood, with a few candles at her feet. The statue was set in the wall, stone covered in wax from candles long since burned. Hawke saw other offerings set on the ledge including a small, hand-carved mabari. 

Seeing that made him stop and take a shaky breath. He tore his eyes away, searching the room for Sebastian’s comforting presence. It was impossible to miss him, though the dark robe was a stark difference from his white armor. Sebastian was currently taking out two long, thin candles from a box. He set the box back on its table before turning around and smiling at Hawke. 

“Here you are, my friend. If you do not mind, I will join you in lighting candles. It has been too long since I… since I have done so for my family.” 

Hawke remembered the anger on Sebastian’s face when they confronted the Harimanns, the dark look that had passed over him whenever he talked too long about his family, the fact that Sebastian had originally been forced into the Chantry. Sebastian was so calm and thoughtful now, it was easy to forget the great potential for anger that simmered under the surface. 

Hopefully that fury would never be aimed at Hawke. He couldn't handle it if his closest friend ever felt that way about him. 

“Hawke?” Sebastian asked, a worried frown dancing across his lips. 

“Sorry,” Hawke said. He reached out and gingerly took one of the candles from Sebastian. “Just… thinking about something else.” 

“It is all right,” Sebastian replied. His smile blossomed and Hawke flushed, just then realizing how warm it was. Between the candle smoke, the stone walls, and the burning heat outside, Hawke was surprised it wasn't hotter. That was why he suddenly had to look away, had to go over to the statue of Andraste. 

_Definitely_ the only reasons, Hawke thought. 

He jumped when Sebastian stood next to him, close enough for their arms to brush. Sebastian was so much taller, but most of the time Hawke could push the thought out of his mind. 

“Do you wish for me to pray for both of us, or do you have your own?” Sebastian asked. 

“... if you could pray for both of us, I would appreciate that,” Hawke said. 

Sebastian nodded before bowing his head. Hawke mirrored him, his mind a million thoughts away. 

#

Unlike many mages, Hawke discovered his powers in a very quiet, peaceful way. He was eight years old and Father was at the market while Mother washed clothes. The twins stayed with Mother, too young to be left alone. Hawke was supposed to stay by her and play with the small wooden carvings that represented mabari and darkspawn and noble warriors and cunning rogues. 

He liked to imagine that a particular warrior, one with a two-handed sword, was him as an adult. There was a smaller rogue token with a bow that was the warrior’s best friend. And, of course, the warrior had a mabari. It was Hawke’s favorite game even if he didn't have any friends to play with. His parents were too worried about him accidentally telling someone the wrong thing or of him making some other mistake — and Hawke knew he would never do that, but if it made his parents happy then he'd sit and play with his toys alone. The twins, after all, were too small to join in.

He was playing Warrior and Mabari while Mother did laundry when he discovered, quite suddenly, that he could create flashing lights in the air. They caught his attention and he gasped, dropping the mabari carving onto the ground. The lights were all sorts of colors, yellows and greens and reds and blues. Some were brighter than others and some were bigger than others, but they all blurred together into a mass of beautiful color. 

Mother gasped, dropped the wash back into the tub, and snatched Hawke into her arms. The lights disappeared instantly as she brought him inside, slamming the door behind her. 

“What did you do?” Mother wailed. “Who saw you?” 

“I don't know, I don't know,” he cried, fat tears welling up and rolling down his face. Hawke found himself placed on the floor as Mother ran around the house, flinging open cabinets and shoving things into bags. 

Hawke didn't know what was happening, he didn't know why Mother was so upset, only that it was his fault. Mother wasn't crying, but she was — she was hectic. She ran from one side of the cottage to another, packing away essentials and discarding anything extra. 

He didn't know how much time passed between Mother preparing for them to leave and Father returning, but it went from being bright out to the first vestiges of orange and red trickling through the sky. 

“Leandra! What—” Malcolm threw the door open, one twin in either arm. He stopped when he saw his oldest son crying on the floor as Leandra ran around, surrounded by half-filled bags. “What happened?”

Hawke saw Mother look at him and — despite being nine years old — would never forget that look. Her eyes were frightened but that was cloaked in anger, in frustration, in hopelessness. She looked at him like he was the worst kind of inconvenience, something purposefully placed in her life to make things difficult. 

The family was long gone before the night had fully settled, hurrying as fast as they could to keep away from the Templars that hunted down Thomas Hawke like boogeymen in the night.

It was the first time Hawke had a nightmare. 

#

“Hawke?” Sebastian’s voice shook Hawke out of his memories. “Hawke, are you all right?” 

“What?” Hawke blinked and forced himself to focus. Five candles flickered in front of him, the one grasped in his hands extinguished. “S-Sorry…” 

Sebastian nudged shoulders with him. Hawke felt — he wasn't sure. His knees felt weak and his head was light, like he would float up to the ceiling any moment now. But Sebastian was there, a grounding presence in the form of a loyal friend. Hawke didn't deserve him. 

Hawke didn't deserve a number of things. 

“Do you wish to talk?” Sebastian asked. 

“About what?” 

“Your family.” Sebastian saw the way Hawke flinched. “I know it is difficult. But speaking with Elthina about… about my parents helped me a great deal. And I fear that you have never been able to have that with anyone.” Sebastian placed his candle in an empty candlestick before gently taking Hawke’s. His fingers were worn from the years of archery but his grip was soft and Hawke put up no resistance. “You are one of the most kind-hearted people I know, Hawke.” 

“I don't want to burden you,” Hawke admitted. 

“It is not burdening me. I am your friend. And you are in pain. I know what it is like to lose a family. Even—” 

“My mother blamed me,” Hawke blurted out. Sebastian’s eyes widened. “She — my father died when I was young. He was looking for someone to help me with my nightmares. The demons — they were there every night. I was going to lose control and turn into an abomination or kill myself. And so he went into the Wilds to try to find someone who could give me help. Instead he got killed.” 

There was a moment of silence. 

Hawke sighed. He wasn't even crying. There was no point crying over something he had lived with for so long. 

“Hawke…” 

“My mother was right. If I was never born — if I hadn't been born with magic — then that would never have happened. My father would still be alive. And if he was alive, he could have saved Carver. And maybe Bethany and—” 

“Thomas.” Sebastian took Hawke’s shoulder and turned Hawke about so that they were facing one another. “You didn't kill your father.” 

“But I did! Aren't you listening? I'm the reason he was there. I'm the reason he was killed!” 

“Your father chose to go and try to find someone because he loved you. And when people love someone, they do dangerous things. But you cannot blame yourself for what happened. You did not kill your father anymore than you killed the rest of your family.” Sebastian reached down and caressed Hawke’s face with the palm of his hand. “You cannot continue to carry the guilt for things you did not do.” 

“But…”

“It. Was. Not. Your. Fault.” Sebastian embraced Hawke in a hug. Hawke was caught off guard, practically pulled off his feet. Sebastian rubbed circles on Hawke’s back and even though Hawke couldn't bring himself to return the hug, it still filled him with confusing warmth. 

_I don't deserve this,_ Hawke thought. _I don't deserve any of this._

“You are a good man, Hawke. That does not mean bad things do not happen.” Sebastian slowly pulled away from Hawke, though his fingers lingered for a moment. Hawke told himself he didn't miss the embrace. “You have helped so many people. I wish that you could see that.” 

Hawke let out a bitter laugh. “It feels more like my magic is a curse. My existence certainly is.” 

Sebastian frowned. Hawke sighed and shook his head, looking away from Sebastian. He suddenly felt warm with shame and tense with anxiety. It was a stupid idea to try to seek comfort in the Chantry — after all, they had done nothing but terrorize him throughout his life. Why had he thought anything would have changed? 

_It's because Sebastian is here. You can trust him,_ Hawke's mind reminded him. _You can't trust anyone who isn't a mage. You know what Anders says,_ the other part of him hissed. 

“You are not cursed. Things have happened to you that should not happen to anyone. But you are a good man and it is hard to be a good man.” 

“You keep saying that. I don't think that means what you think it means.” Hawke sighed again. “I have long since given up hope for my soul, but…” He looked at the small figure of Andraste. He wondered if she hated that humans worshipped her with fire. He wondered if she hated him for being a mage. He wondered if it even mattered. 

“Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls,” Sebastian spoke. “From these emerald water doth life begin anew. Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you. In my arms lies Eternity.” 

“Andraste 7:19?” Hawke guessed.

“Andraste 14:11,” Sebastian corrected. “When we die, Hawke, what happens to our souls?” Hawke didn’t have an answer to Sebastian’s question, so he just shrugged. “Those who do good in life are rewarded by standing by the Maker’s side. He is there, waiting to welcome his children home.” 

Hawke thought about Bethany, who loved to bake fresh bread for Carver and Father when they came home. He thought about how Carver would always slip a few treats to the mabari when he thought nobody was looking. Father and Mother — they were in love, as far as Hawke could remember, but they were not in love together. Looking back at it, even Hawke’s fractured memories could piece together that much. 

He wondered what home was supposed to be like and why the extravagant mansion, where Anders lived and helped take care of him, did not feel like one.

“You really believe that we will have some higher purpose in death?” Hawke asked. 

“Why would we not? The Veil is real, magic is real. We know the Fade is real. The Maker and Andraste are most certainly real as well.” Sebastian shrugged. “I take comfort in knowing that He has our fates set out for us, that He is watching us and takes care of us even if He works in ways we do not quite understand. If you do not, well, that is normal. But it helps me and I am certain that there is something that will help you as well.” 

“No, it… it does help,” Hawke admitted. And it did. He hoped that someone out there knew what he was supposed to do with his life, because it felt like he hadn’t a clue. “Sebastian… Do you think my family is happy, now?” 

Sebastian hesitated. 

“It was a stupid question, you don’t—” Hawke was interrupted by Sebastian shaking his head. 

“It is not a stupid question, Hawke. I did not know your brother as well as I wish and I knew your mother less, but… From what you tell me, they were good people and good people are always rewarded by the Maker.” 

Hawke thought about his mother’s eyes, full of anger and disappointment and helplessness. She had loved Bethany so, so much. It was just Thomas who had managed to ruin everything. There wasn’t anything left to break by the time Bethany was throwing around fireballs. 

He nodded. “Thank you, Sebastian.” 

“Of course, my friend. Anytime.”

#

Once, when Hawke was thirteen years old, he was almost possessed by a demon. In his defense, the demons liked to come almost every night. So that wasn’t the most unusual part. He was a regular in the Fade, dealing with offers from creatures with too many eyes or no set shape. It was just that this particular demon was more clever and knew exactly what to do. Well, almost exactly. 

The Fade liked to take the form of whatever house or hovel the Hawkes were staying in at the time. By the time he was thirteen, Lothering was home — from the small cottage with its wide open farmland to the gentle curve of the streets as they wound past the blacksmith and the Chantry and all the other buildings. Hawke liked Lothering. It was quiet enough to keep him calm, largely unconcerned with Templars, while still being lively enough to not make Carver bored and start to cause trouble. 

Hawke, as the oldest and most responsible of the children, didn’t get into mischief or poke his nose into places where it didn’t belong. 

While the Fade took the shape of his house, it never quite had the capability of mimicking everything fully. The door was too wide, the cabinets too tall — it was a poorly done mimicry of the actual cottage. His family sometimes appeared, but they were always even more off. Bethany would have blonde hair, Carver would be too cheerful, Mother would smile. Hawke could always tell that something was wrong.

Tonight was no exception. He didn’t find himself surprised by the situation, but he was concerned that there didn’t seem to be any demons in his immediate vicinity. It was always easiest to deal with them when they were obvious, even in poor disguises. But tonight there was nothing.

Hawke sighed and got out of bed. He knew he was still dreaming because there was no wind in the Fade, no sound of Bethany and Carver laughing or Father trying to run after them as they scampered away. His family let him sleep in only because they knew how bad his sleep was, how the nightmares hadn’t let him get a real night’s rest in years. 

He also knew this was a dream because he was in his usual clothes rather than his pajamas. The Fade was funny like that. 

As tempting as it was to just sit back down and make the demons come to him, Hawke knew he’d go out of his mind with boredom if he was made to wait any longer than an hour. At that point, he’d practically be begging the demons to bother him, if only to have something to do. So instead, he went exploring. 

The house was different here, but close enough that it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Usually the changes were more obvious, but whatever demon had crafted this was smart. What gave it away, however, was the small mabari trinket on the table in the front room. 

Hawke didn’t touch it, no matter how much he wanted to run his fingers over the wood and see if it was the same toy he had lost years ago. 

When he got to the front room, he peered out the single window and felt his heart leap into his chest. A demon with lavender skin, elaborate horns and a body bare to the world, sat outside on the grass. It had goat hooves and fingernails more akin to claws, as well as yellow eyes, but it was definitely a mockery of a man’s shape. 

_A desire demon,_ Hawke though, mentally flipping through the single book on the Fade that Father had. It spoke of all sorts of demons and spirits, but desire demons were one of the worst. He wasn't sure why it was so obviously a demon, however. Couldn't it shift forms, try to confuse him into thinking he was talking to Bethany or Father? 

The demon turned around and looked Hawke in the eyes. 

Hawke yelped and pulled the curtains in front of the window, ducking down and hiding under a table. He could feel his entire body shaking, trying to remember what he was supposed to do. He knew he couldn't agree to anything it said, that was how demons possessed a person. But was he supposed to use his magic? Was he supposed to try to wake up? 

“Come on out, little one,” the demon crooned. “I will not hurt you.” Its voice echoed in the Fade, far too loud and too clear to be real. Hawke clamped his hands over his ears, trying to ignore it. “You are safe from the other demons. They will not touch you here.”

“Go away!” Hawke shouted. 

“I know you are scared of me, but that is only because you do not know about me.” 

There was a sudden lurch, a shift in the floor, and Hawke felt his stomach twist. He felt himself drop without moving as he went from the empty cottage to outside a familiar house. The leftover laundry was still soaking in the tub. A few shirts hung from the line that extended from the house and attached to a nearby tree. The demon sat across from Hawke, clawed fingers playing with a wooden toy. 

Hawke felt like he was going to be sick. 

“Hello, little one. I thought this might be a bit more familiar,” the demon said. “You always wanted someone to play with, even if you said you didn't.” It smiled. All its teeth were sharp. Its tongue was long and purple with a shiny piece of gold through the tip. “Well, do you want to play?”

“I told you, I don't make deals with demons,” Hawke told it. 

“Oh, I know I look like a demon, but I'm different from all of those. I'm much nicer, little one. I just want to help you.” The demon pat the ground next to it. “Now come here, little one. Play with me.” 

“I don't trust you.” Hawke didn't move. 

The demon frowned and Hawke thought it would attack, but then its face evened out again. It shrugged and started to set up a mock battle with the toys. 

The wooden figures were much nicer than the ones Hawke had played with. They were painted, for one, and their faces were actually clear. There was a large dragon that the demon surrounded with warriors and archers. Hawke could see a few mabari, but all of them were too nice. They weren't the same as the mabari that Hawke had owned. 

A few more minutes passed. 

“You know, I can take your magic away.” The demon smiled at Hawke's stunned expression. “You did not know that was possible, hm?” 

Hawke shook his head. The demon nodded slowly. 

“Yes, well, it is possible. Difficult, but possible.” 

“How?” Hawke asked despite himself. He wasn't going to agree to anything, but demons knew everything about magic. If there was any way he could be rid of this curse… 

The demon chuckled. “Old ways. Long forgotten by humans.” 

“Not Tranquility?” Hawke clarified. 

“Not Tranquility,” the demon confirmed. “But you do not want my help. And you do not trust me. So you are a waste of my time.” It stood, a long tail extending from its body. The demon was definitely masculine, a thick cock hanging from between its legs. Hawke couldn't help but stare at the demon, but if it was trying to seduce him then it wasn't working. That didn't stop it from winking at him. “If you wish to have a good time, just visit me in the Fade.” 

“Wait,” Hawke said. 

The demon crossed its arms, tail lashing around in the air. The end was barbed, deadly in its own right. Hawke gulped. 

“What… what would you need to take my magic away?” He asked. 

“Oh, It's very simple.” The demon floated forward, hooves not touching the ground. It loomed over Hawke, perhaps seven feet tall. Hawke usually felt small, usually felt vulnerable, but he had rarely had a reason like this. “I just need a kiss.” 

Hawke shivered. “Why that? Are you going to steal my soul?” He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. 

The demon chuckled. “No, little one. It is just how I make my deals. Kisses are so nice, don't you think?” It hovered closer and waved a hand. Hawke was helpless as he began to float, suspended in the air at eye level with the demon. “And you're so young… you can't have kissed anyone else before. _Fantastic._ ” 

Another shiver went down Hawke's spine. He knew he should leave, he should wake up, but he couldn't. Everything was slow. Time didn't exist. Hawke could hear himself breathe. The demon’s eyes were molten gold. 

“Kiss me, little one. And I will make all of your troubles disappear.” 

Hawke blinked. He licked his lips. 

He woke up. 

#

When Hawke was twenty one, he met Anders.


End file.
